The story of Set and Horus: Catilina x Cicero
by Alcibiaquilades
Summary: 63 BC Consul Cicero will not stop denouncing his enemy Catilina. In an attempt to prove his innocence Catilina offers himself into voluntary house arrest - in Cicero's house. Historically Cicero says 'no', but what if he had said 'yes'...? Cicero/Catilina
1. Religion

Hello everyone.

**disclaimer: **I do not own these historical figures / characters.  
**warnings: **Slash, graphic sexual content (later on). But this chapter is tame.**  
****author notes:** It's been a while since I studied these two brilliant men so I do apologise if I get a few facts wrong...in general I believe I am correct but please point out any errors so I may change them. Well I don't expect many readers but I hope those of you who do read enjoy it.  
The title will make sense later.  
**historical background knowledge:**  
When I first wrote this I expected those who read it to have a basic knowledge of the history, though I'd like to think it isn't absolutely necessary. As a very brief overview; Marcus Tullius Cicero was joint Consul with Antonius Hybrida in 63 BC. Many people were dissatisfied with the poverty and homelessness affecting ex-soldiers and Rome in general. Catilina, an ambitious but debt-ridden Senator, took it upon himself to lead a revolution against Rome with the intent of killing various members of the senate, burning parts of Rome and cancelling all debts. Cicero had been informed about this but few in the senate actually believed him and, because Catilina and he were known to be rivals, most Senators believed that Cicero was just being petty and targetting his enemy for no other reason than that he disliked Catilina. Protesting his innocence, Catilina offered himself into voluntary house arrest and asked several Senators - including Cicero - to keep him under arrest in their houses. It is from this point that I begin my story - but whilst historically Cicero said no, in my fic he has already said yes.

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**The Story of Set and Horus; Chapter One; Religion**

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As the doors closed behind them Cicero shivered, suddenly wishing to be anywhere but there. Now even his own house, his refuge, his sanctuary, tasted sour to him. Tiro, his favourite servant, hovered nearby with sharp eyes and the famous orator felt somewhat comforted by this; Tiro mightn't be the strongest of men, but at least Cicero was not alone with Catilina. For even though the Senator had ostentatiously left his dagger outside the house, the Consul was not convinced that it was his only weapon.

'Pretty,' the senator next to him remarked as he looked around slowly. 'I'd heard you had an eye for houses. Never thought I'd get to judge that for myself though.' Perhaps this was sarcasm, for Cicero's house was only a small one on the Esquiline hill (later he would move to the Palatine), but the patrician's tone was deceptively genuine.

'Tiro,' Cicero called the servant over with a constrained voice, ignoring the faux-pleasantness of his prisoner. 'Make sure this man is unarmed.'

'Oh Marcus you wrong me!' Catilina protested, palms facing upwards in front of him innocently as Tiro obediently, albeit a little reluctantly, began to pat the bunches of toga covering the supposed-revolutionist's lithe body. Cicero opened his mouth to reply but shut it again. That, he decided irritably, was not even worth a response. Though Catilina's tone had been light, however, his eyes were cold as they bored into Cicero's over Tiro's searching hands, and the younger of the two men found that he couldn't keep the gaze.

'He's unarmed, master,' Tiro confirmed a couple of minutes later, retreating to stand several paces away from the black haired, voluntary prisoner. Catilina didn't even spare him a glance as he dropped his hands back to his sides, eyes still fixed on Cicero, and the orator took a deep breath and tried to think. After the Senatus Consultum Ultimum had been decreed he had employed a personal body guard and armed men to surround his house. Without thinking, he had left them outside as usual - but now he reconsidered and, strolling back to the doors, opened them a crack and ordered two of the men inside.

'Watch this man and don't let him leave the house,' Cicero commanded without looking at Catilina, fingernails digging into his right palm to keep himself calm. He was sorely regretting his decision to accept Catilina into his house but, he reminded himself, it was a necessary precaution to stop the revolutionist from succeeding in his plans. He only wished that the impeccable, patrician born senator would wipe that smug smile off of his charming face. It was unnerving. 'Tiro, prepare a room for our…guest. And make sure he's well looked after. I shall be in my study if you need me.'

And with that Cicero swiftly left, unable to stand any longer in the same room as that proud, febrile man who had haunted his nightmares and fearful, waking thoughts for far too long now. His skin still prickled even when he had sat himself down behind his desk and poured himself some wine, and his hand shook as he tried to drink it.

'This is stupid,' he groaned to himself quietly. 'Pull yourself together you coward. It was _your_ choice to bring him here, he's in _your _custody, under _your_ control. Why should _you_ be scared of _him_?'

'Marcus.' The harsh feminine voice from the doorway made him start. Terentia pulled up a chair and sat down uninvited, but Cicero had no strength to tell her to leave him alone. 'What are you doing, bringing a man like _that_ into this house? Isn't it enough for you to cower every time you walk out the door? Now you want to shake and whimper in your own home too?'

This was what he needed, Cicero realised; someone else to tell him that he was being stupid, someone he couldn't stand being told that by. This way he would have to defend himself and, perhaps, he would come to believe his defence. He drew himself up importantly, though it didn't make him any taller than Terentia, who was not the delicate creature he had always envisioned marrying when he was younger. Then he cleared his throat and eyed her gravely.

'I know what I'm doing Terentia. Lucius Sergius Catilina is unarmed and guarded and poses no threat to us here. Nor, now, does he pose any threat outside of this house. With him under house arrest he will not be able to meet with his conspirators or join in meetings of the senate. He will lose track of the political sphere and become frustrated. And if - when - he attempts to flaunt his captivity, I shall have basis for convincing those still unconvinced of his treachery.'

'This is a voluntary house arrest proposed by _him_,' Terentia said slowly, meaningfully. 'If you think he hasn't already considered these things and planned for them then you are more fool than I ever imagined was possible. Even from you.'

Cicero bristled. 'Enough. I'm no fool to one who understands the situation. He may have suggested this arrest but I believe that he was in jest, carried away with himself and his words, and he certainly didn't expect me to accept. Do you think I would have said yes otherwise?'

'I do not think anything of you anymore,' Terentia replied stonily, stubbornly convinced that she was right and her husband was wrong. Standing stiffly, she exited the study and Cicero stared after her with helpless anger inside of him, though he knew not whether it was directed at Terentia or Catilina. Or even himself. With a wince at the bitter taste of the watered wine Cicero drained the cup and reached out a surprisingly steady hand to pour himself a refill.

Cena was an awkward affair, with Terentia cold and detached and Tullia, Cicero's teenage daughter, curious but silenced by the atmosphere. She had to content herself by stealing furtive glances at their guest who, in stark contrast to the tenseness of everyone around him, appeared to be completely at ease. Tullia, sixteen years of age, had been married just that year and would ordinarily be living with her husband - but she was still not entirely over the shock of leaving the family home and every now and then Piso would allow her to spend a few days with her parents; such as now.

Terentia excused herself early to tend to the youngest of the family, two-year-old Marcus, who didn't eat with them. Cicero told Tullia to be gone as well, put out by the interest she was showing in the charming man who shared his couch. With a final glance, Tullia stood and left but not before, Cicero saw in outrage, Catilina had winked at her; a lazy, suggestive wink that had every one of the orator's hairs standing on edge.

As the food disappeared and the wine was brought out Cicero became acutely aware that he was being scrutinised, and it took all of his self-control not to snap so tense was he. Instead he turned his head and glared at the man reclining beside him, looking at him for the first time since the cena had started. Delighted at this acknowledgement, Catilina grinned.

'You have a beautiful daughter.'

Cicero suppressed a growl, but his words were terse when he bit them out. 'You think so?'

'You don't?' Catilina feigned surprise and took a glass of wine from the slave-girl.

Taking a long draught of the wine Cicero briefly closed his eyes and prayed for composure. His wit returned a little. 'Unlike some people I don't ogle my own daughter.'

Catilina laughed, apparently unoffended, and gave Cicero an appraising look over the rim of his cup. Cicero stared at a point over the other man's shoulder, uncomfortable with the gaze. His only saving grace, as far as he was concerned, was that he wasn't scared; but that might have had something to do with the two guards standing nearby…or possibly the wine. Flicking his eyes over to Catilina's again Cicero saw that he was still being examined and an imperceptible shiver ran down his spine.

'Do you need anything?' He forced himself to ask, if just to cut through the unbearable silence.

'Conversation would be nice,' Catilina replied, tilting his head slightly as his eyes glittered out a challenge. 'You are, after all, famous for your words.'

Cicero had not expected this but he could hardly back out now, and it was not a wholly unreasonable request. 'Very well. What would you like to discuss?'

'Religion.' The word was not rushed but, equally, there had been no hesitation or pause for thought. Cicero eyed his nemesis warily.

'Yes? And which god do you favour?' Unable to stop himself Cicero added, a little spitefully, 'Strife?'

A small smile curled Catilina's lips. 'I don't favour any gods.'

'No? Is that because no god favours you?'

The smile did not waver. 'Please drop that tone with me, Marcus Tullius. I worship no gods because there are no gods to worship.'

With a concerted effort Cicero forced his voice to be calm and conversational, though his words were no more pleasant. 'Of course. When every other type of depravity cloaks your life why not add impiety?' He held out his cup to be refilled and met the sapphire orbs of his companion as if he was of equal birth.

'Why would you want to believe in gods who are just as petty as mortals?' Catilina wondered, ignoring the slight.

'I couldn't possibly believe in something that did not have faults.'

'Because you are mortal,' Catilina agreed, 'and know that it is impossible for a mortal to be flawless. But gods are not mortals. Why shouldn't they be perfect?'

Cicero frowned as if he could taste the words and they were sour. 'Don't try to corrupt me. I believe in the gods because that is what my father believed and his father before him and so on. The gods are ageless and have been worshipped since the start of time. Does that add nothing to their cause?'

'That is the argument of a stubborn man unable to see beyond his own line of vision,' Catilina retorted scornfully. 'You remind me of Pentheus with all your short-sightedness - and look at what happened to him.'

'Is that a threat?' Cicero asked bluntly and Catilina blinked at him before throwing his head back and laughing loudly. The new-man shifted awkwardly at this reaction, glancing briefly at the two guards standing nearby. Perhaps he had been trying to read too much into the words.

'Oh dear,' Catilina gasped, catching his breath. 'I didn't realise you were so on edge. Jumping at that!' He chuckled, shook his head; 'Like a frightened mouse.'

'A mouse?' Cicero was obviously offended. Catilina sobered a little, though his eyes still danced amusement.

'No,' he decided, looking at Cicero thoughtfully. 'A mouse is too quiet an animal to compare you to.'

'Thank you,' the host bit, hoping to end the conversation there, but Catilina ignored him.

'A grasshopper is a better allusion,' he announced, nodding his head and obviously pleased at himself for having made the link. 'The little blighters can jump ridiculously high and they make an awful racket.'

Cicero rose from the couch rather stonily as his companion chuckled at his own joke. Handing his half-empty cup of wine to the waiting slave-girl he cleared his throat and stared down at Catilina with as much dignity as he could manage. The playful blue eyes of his now-silent companion gazed up at him expectantly.

'Good night, Senator. I hope you sleep well.'

Catilina smirked back. 'And you, Consul, and you.'

* * *

So that's the end of the first installment; what did you think?  
Oh and I know that Cicero is generally seen as the religious sceptic, but that's later in his life. This is my explanation for why he became a sceptic...i.e. convinced by Catilina.

Thanks for reading,  
Lelegeia xxx


	2. Set and Horus

Hello again.

**warnings:** Slash. Strong language. Strong sexual themes.  
**author's notes:** You might want to research the story of Set and Horus because I don't explain it in great detail in this fic. Or else the basic gist is that they're Egyptian Gods (uncle Set and nephew Horus) who fight against each other for the position of power. Horus is seen as the 'goody' and Set as the 'baddy' and Horus triumphs in the end after various tricks they play on each other. Set, however, does seduce Horus first (despite the fact that Horus escapes the shame by catching Set's semen and throwing it in a river, haha - but this is better explained elsewhere online. Look it up!).  
'Gerrae', by the way, translates as 'nonsense'.

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**The Story of Set and Horus; Chapter Two; Set and Horus**

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Cicero couldn't sleep. It wasn't really surprising, he thought, since he'd been sleeping sparsely ever since the problem of Catilina had arisen and begun to threaten the Republic. The handsome face often haunted him, and he'd found that his mind was almost constantly taken up with thoughts of the conspiracy and how to stop it. It didn't help that he was the only one who truly seemed to believe that Catilina was guilty, the only one who could stop the dastardly charming, thoroughly debauched and treacherous man.

He'd lain down beside the already soundly sleeping Terentia several long hours after he'd left Catilina still reclining on the couch, but although he'd tried to sleep the soothing, unconscious state had proved to be elusive. So he was back in his study, staring at a blank tablet with a weariness he'd come to know well over the last couple of months.

He'd always wanted something large to happen in his year as Consul so he could quash it and be claimed saviour of the Republic, remembered for all time…but he'd never imagined that it would be this stressful! He'd blindly assumed that others would be there to help him, but for some reason they were reluctant to believe him. He was Consul for goodness sake! Wasn't that good enough for them? Did they still prefer a mere Senator to him just because Catilina was a patrician of the Sergii line and Cicero was a simple old Tullius? Annoyed, he fisted his right hand and punched his other arm, but it was a weak punch and didn't hurt enough to have been worthwhile. Besides, Cicero wasn't a masochist; just occasionally, borne from frustration, he would attempt something of the sort. It never worked.

Reaching for the wine, he poured himself a glass without bothering to add water, eyed it warily. He didn't really like neat wine but sometimes it helped him to sleep, and for that reason alone it was useful. It was the thought of Cato though, turned to drink, that made him hesitate; the man was certainly not what he used to be. Shaking his head to dismiss that thought Cicero brought the cup up to his lips, but stopped at a small, intrusive noise from his left.

'You're not going to pour me a glass?'

The soft voice made Cicero freeze, chilled utterly down to the very marrow in his bones. His mind refused to think, his body as still as if he had been carved from marble. Only when footsteps sounded from his left, moving smoothly and unconcernedly towards him, did he move and then it was a stiff turn of his head, a shallow inhalation. If it wasn't for the fact that he had, as of yet, not touched the wine he would have thought himself to be hallucinating but the sharp, attractive face of his companion was all too real. So, too, was the warmth of his hands as they prized Cicero's fingers away from the cup of wine and lifted the potent drink in salute to the shocked Consul.

Orator that he was, Cicero finally found his voice, but his usual stock of wit had deserted him. 'H-How did you get…' He trailed off, glanced towards the open door and searched for the vanished guards with his eyes. He swallowed, turned his eyes back to Catilina as the older man drank deeply from the cup and stared down at his host. Voice low, Cicero tried to stay calm. 'How did you lose the guards?'

Licking his lips and replacing the cup on the table (Cicero wasn't overly surprised to see it empty) Catilina considered Cicero's question for several long moments, enjoying the fear he saw in the orator's eyes. 'I didn't _lose_ them,' he smiled at last, picking up on the semantics of Cicero's sentence. 'I know exactly where they are.'

'Hades?' Cicero forced himself to keep the gaze as he spoke, a slight tremor in his voice.

Palms flat on the desk Catilina's smile widened marginally and he leant forward as if he were about to impart a great secret. His voice was hushed, reverent, slow. But the word, in comparison, was short. A deliberate farce. 'Wrong.'

Cicero did not - could not - relax. He was as far back in his chair as he possibly could be, eyes darting over Catilina's face skittishly as he tried to gauge some indication of what the man intended to do. If he had escaped his guards it was entirely possible that he was armed - and Cicero, as per usual, was _not_ armed. Even if he _had_ had a weapon to hand Cicero wouldn't have liked to bet on his chances against Catilina.

'You're not going to ask where they are?' Catilina pouted, pulling back and moving to pour himself another cup of wine. Glancing at the door in some vain hope, calculating the distance, Cicero silently despaired at his chances of making it if he braved a dash. A cup of wine was placed in front of him and he cursed himself for having taken his eyes off of Catilina; the man literally _dripped_ with poison. At the expectant raise of an eyebrow though Cicero sighed and wet his lips.

'Where are they then?' He humoured the older man, although he was actually a little curious himself. Pushing the tablet to the side of the desk Catilina lithely sat himself down on the vacated space, scorning the chair and smiling very sweetly down at Cicero.

'Drink your wine.'

Despite himself, a flash of anger lit up the Consul's eyes at the slight; how dare this man force him to ask a question and then refuse to answer it? 'I'm not thirsty,' Cicero lied, his voice firm. In actual fact his mouth and lips were very dry and in dire need of a drink.

'Gerrae,' Catilina replied cheerfully and, with a careless manner entirely at odds with his action, he dipped a finger into the wine and ran the smooth, wet tip against Cicero's parched lips; they parted slightly in shock. 'See?' He continued as if he hadn't paused, 'I think you _are_ thirsty.'

Swallowing dryly, Cicero took the cup and raised it to his lips, eyes locked on those above him as if he was in a trance. A trance that was broken as his heart fluttered in fear and he remembered the distinct possibility of poison. Cicero feared death, always had, and couldn't ignore this fear. He lowered his eyes to the cup, nervously flicked a tongue over his wet lips, but couldn't speak.

'Oh Marcus,' Catilina sighed theatrically from above him as he guessed the Consul's thoughts, 'Where would I have obtained poison from in this house? Is there a secret stash you're not telling me about?' Putting down his own cup the senator gripped the side of the desk nearest Cicero with both hands and leant down predatorily to take the lip of the cup with his teeth and tilt it towards him. As Cicero stared numbly, some of the dark red liquid spilled over into the older man's mouth and, letting the cup go, Catilina pulled back a little, raised his head to bare his throat and then swallowed very deliberately. Tilting his head back down he shot Cicero a self-satisfied smirk. 'Drink your wine.'

Hands shaking Cicero obeyed, felt the bitter liquid slip down his throat and warm his insides. Catilina refilled the cup almost as soon as it was drained and, cowed into submission, Cicero drank without having to be told. And again, and again. Desperation took hold.

'You-you're trying to get me d-drunk,' Cicero stammered, wanting to sound indignant but appearing weak. Catilina inclined his head graciously and did not deny it. 'Why?' Cicero demanded helplessly, already light-headed. Catilina frowned at him.

'Why not?' Then his eyes glittered in amusement; 'I've often wondered what upright, proud, _moral_ Marcus Tullius Cicero is like when he's drunk.'

Cicero's stomach fluttered uneasily at the words and, much to his displeasure, he found that his vision was a little hazy and the room swayed unnervingly when he flicked his eyes over to the doorway and back. 'I don't follow,' he muttered uncomfortably, refusing to meet Catilina's eyes.

'No?' Catilina chuckled softly, then jumped off the table and moved to shut the door. Cicero's hands wrung together anxiously in his lap, cup forgotten.

'What are you doing?' He cursed the tremor in his normally steady, persuasive voice.

'Back on the subject of religion,' Catilina started genially as if he hadn't heard Cicero, leaning his back against the door, 'consider the story of Set and Horus.'

Cicero stared at him a little blankly. 'Egyptian gods,' he finally replied thickly, the delayed effect of the wine continuing to harass him. 'What of them?'

'You don't see the connection?' Catilina wondered. Pushing himself away from the wooden door he approached Cicero slowly, cautiously. His tone though was casual, as if the words meant very little; 'It struck me not so long ago how similar they are to us.'

'In that one is evil and the other good?' Cicero's brow was furrowed in confusion.

'Oh I wouldn't say that Horus is entirely good,' Catilina replied blithely, stopping behind Cicero's chair and grinning as the orator twisted around to look up at him. 'After all he's often used as a symbol of power - and power corrupts, does it not?'

'Then I don't see how we're even remotely connected to-'

'But,' Catilina interrupted; 'aren't you a Consul, my dear Cicero? Wouldn't you say that's a position of power?'

Frown deeper than ever the orator tried to see where this was going. 'Horus,' he said slowly, searching Catilina's eyes as intently as he could with his partially glazed orbs, 'won in the end. Why would you bring that up?'

'The end hasn't yet come,' the black-haired man reminded with a grimace, gripping the back of Cicero's chair and pulling it out from under the desk as easily as if it had been empty, turning it so it was side on to it's previous position. From this angle it was easy for Catilina to step in front of the younger man who, dizzy from the wine, nevertheless turned back around to face him, arms gripping the armrests tightly.

'But Set was defeated in all the contests,' Cicero protested. He paused. 'I'm not mistaken,' he added, unsure, 'when I assume you're likening me to Horus, you to Set?'

'You're not mistaken,' Catilina agreed, leaning down to grip Cicero's forearms and pinning them to the armrests they were already firmly attached to. Considering their respective positions, Catilina thoughtfully bent his left leg up and forced it between Cicero's thighs, causing any words that had been building on the orator's tongue to shrivel and die as his tunic rode up to accommodate the limb. Shifting to get comfortable Catilina lowered himself to sit on his bent leg and, this way, their faces were of almost equal height.

'Now,' the would-be-revolutionist smiled softly, 'I'm sure there was one thing in which Set got the better of his nephew…' He faked ignorance, brought his face a little closer to Cicero's. 'Oh if only I could remember what it _was_,' he breathed, pouted, fluttered his eyelashes. Cicero closed his eyes and tried to calm his breathing. A coil of horror was twisting in his gut.

'Don't play with me.' The Consul's hands twitched but the fingers digging into his forearms rendered them useless. 'I see where you're going with this.'

'You do?' Catilina purred, 'Oh good; I was beginning to think I'd have to spell it out for you.' He leaned closer and their breaths mingled. 'Look at me.'

Cicero shivered, opened his eyes, and felt their noses brush tenderly against each other. An Egyptian kiss.

'You asked,' Cicero hissed, hoping his words wouldn't slur too much, 'me to take you into my house with designs to seduce me?'

'No,' Catilina sighed, bending his head to trail kisses along the Consul's stiff, clenched jaw. 'Or else I wouldn't have asked Lepidus first.' Reaching Cicero's lips Catilina glanced playfully up at the orator and held his eyes as he pressed against him, initiating their first kiss. For Cicero, who never got much out of Terentia (especially in the way of kisses), it was surprisingly pleasant if a little assertive, forceful. Perhaps Catilina saw something of this in his eyes because he grinned when he pulled back.

Cicero breathed in deeply, averted his eyes. 'Then why did you put yourself under voluntary arrest?' He decided that the best course of action was to pretend that he was still focused on politics and not on the growing ache only just covered by his risen tunic. The shame was actually unbearable, but he was too much under the influence of the wine to control himself.

'Hm?' Catilina was not of the same mind as he licked his way up Cicero's neck, stopping to suck at the warmest point where he could feel the Consul's quickened heart-beat. 'For the same reason you accepted me,' he finally replied, pausing in his task and nipping the sensitive skin with just enough force to make Cicero hiss air in through his teeth. 'Because you weren't expecting it. To off-put you.'

'Backfired somewhat, didn't it?' Cicero growled before Catilina kissed him on the mouth again, moving his lips against the orator's needily and licking the firmly closed entrance. Cicero remained still, lips pressed tightly shut, and held his breath. He was _not_ going to make this easy for Catilina. Though there was only two years difference in age however there was a lifetime's difference in immoral experience and Catilina was not about to be outdone. Shifting his weight to his right foot, still on the floor, the would-be Set slid his left leg further forward, forcing Cicero's thighs wider apart, and smiled when his knee brushed something hard. Cicero moaned shamefully beneath him and Catilina took this opportunity to slip his tongue into the wine drenched mouth, prizing the hot opening wider and licking along the inside.

Cicero couldn't deny his body's arousal now - he had _never_ been kissed like this before - but the humiliation swirled and knotted inside of him unpleasantly, threatening to break the surface. He breathed harshly against the older man when his mouth was released but when he had regained enough breath to speak Catilina leant in and captured his lips again, pleased when Cicero parted of his own accord this time and even moved his tongue against the dominant party; fighting but losing.

Breaking apart again Catilina transferred Cicero's left hand over to the other armrest to be held, along with his right arm, by Catilina's left, so freeing the revolutionist's right hand. Said hand moved to Cicero's exposed left thigh and massaged it expertly, rising steadily higher up the bare skin until it slipped under the tunic and reached the drunken man's hipbone.

'Catilina,' Cicero panted warningly, voice hitching and politics wholly forgotten. He had to try.

'Yes?' Sapphire orbs rose to rest almost innocently on the glassy, wine hazed irides. Cicero forgot what he was going to say, fell deeply into the dark blue pools. Fingers ghosted against the base of his arousal, traced the shaft teasingly, and the Consul made a soft, helpless noise and bit his lip. Then his hands were suddenly free and his tunic was being tugged mercilessly higher; subconsciously he shifted to help the hands and aid his disrobement though Catilina hadn't enough patience to remove the tunic entirely. Then - sweet gods! - something moist and warm was running along the back of his manhood, flicking the tip and making Cicero's eyelashes flicker in silent ecstasy.

Hands holding Cicero's hips firmly Catilina finished his teasing and with practiced ease slipped his mouth over the apex and swallowed the orator's entire length in one swift move. Cicero gasped, fought against the restraints on his hips and bit back a cry, white fingers gripping the armrest whilst his other hand, his left, fisted in Catilina's hair.

It did not take long for Cicero's body to shudder out his climax, lip so swollen and abused that blood dripped down his chin, but the pleasure and foreign feeling of being sucked (Terentia never had and never would; once Cicero had made the mistake of asking and been so thoroughly chastised for it that he'd jumped every time he saw her for the better part of a month) proved too much for his wine-addled brain, and with a wordless shiver his eyes shut and his head fell to the side, unconscious.

Swallowing the cum smoothly, Catilina licked the spent member clean before shrugging Cicero's limp hand off of his shoulder and rising a little stiffly to frown down at the Consul in a dissatisfied manner. 'Selfish beggar,' he sighed and moved a skilled hand to his own member, leaning back against the desk as he jerked himself off and letting his eyes study the thin, almost unhealthy body of that year's only active Consul (Hybrida lacking any skill or aptitude for the post). Dark skin under the eyes suggested lack of sleep and he was too pale, too thin. It looked as if he'd lost more weight in the last few months than in the last few years, and Catilina rightfully accredited this to himself and the stress that Cicero felt at everyone's disbelief.

'You're so right as well.' he sighed after his release was over and he was leaning over the unconscious man. 'It's almost laughable how far patronage can carry one nowadays.'

Wrapping an arm around the limp man's chest, he lifted Cicero just enough to pull the man's tunic a respectable distance down his thighs before dropping him back into the chair. Not that he was hoping Cicero wouldn't remember, but it wouldn't do to have somebody walk into the study and see the Consul in such an obviously debauched state. Stretching, Catilina took a last lazy, sated glance around the room and then quietly left.

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So! End of second installment.  
Not typical of my writing to jump straight into the lust with a story this long, but it works in the long run!  
I'd like to hear your thoughts and thanks for reading,

Lelegeia xxx


	3. Ientaculum

Hello again.

**warnings:** For this chapter, very little.  
**author's notes: **Firstly I feel I should clarify some vocab. 'Cena' I think is fairly well known to mean the evening meal, but 'ientaculum' is less common and means, effectively, 'breakfast'. 'Prandium' is the equivalent of lunch. 'Tata' is the diminuitive of father in latin - so it translates roughly as 'daddy'. Equally 'mamma' can be read 'mummy'. If any more vocab crops up then I'll try to remember to put it up here for you.

* * *

**The Story of Set and Horus; Chapter Three; Ientaculum**

* * *

Back in his own room Catilina stepped carefully over the two unconscious guards and sat on the un-slept-on bed, stared at them pensively. Then he sighed, kicked the one nearest his bed at first gently and then with more force. The young guard groaned, shifted, finally opened his eyes and turned his head to stare up at Catilina. His eyes widened and he scrambled to his feet, glancing wildly at the other guard still sprawled on the floor.

'Shh,' Catilina soothed, a finger to his lips. The soldier's gaze softened from terror to wary caution.

'What did you do?' The voice was low, worried. Catilina smirked and slowly laid himself out on the bed. Turning on his side he fixed the guard with a sharp gaze.

'Nothing much.'

'When they find out I-'

'Shh!' Catilina repeated, a little more urgently this time. 'They won't find out. If I'd done something condemnable I wouldn't still be here.'

The guard looked unsure.

'If you tell anyone that I did anything other than lie in my bed and stare at the wall during your watch then your part will also be exposed. Now wake your companion.'

'My part was to be knocked unconscious,' the guard hissed back, remaining stubbornly where he was.

'I assure you,' Catilina frowned, propping himself up on an elbow and increasing the intensity of his gaze, 'that I can prove you let yourself be charmed first.' He held up a hand to silence the protest. 'I can.' When all the guard did then was stare back Catilina smirked and waved towards the other unconscious guard. 'It's his watch now. Wake him up.'

And with a shy, frustrated gaze the young soldier obeyed.

Cicero woke foggily with all the symptoms of a bad hangover and raised a weak hand to cover his eyes before opening them and letting them adjust slowly to the light filtering in through the open doorway. Then, with a groan, he sat up straighter in the chair and looked around him. What had he been doing to let himself get so drunk?

Memories began to assault him, so alien they had a dream-like quality, and, horrified, he gripped the armrests with bloodless fingers and a white face. Had that really happened? He wasn't sure he wanted to know, wasn't sure he wanted to find out, but the human fault of curiosity was too strong and he let his eyes run over the desk in front of him. There were two wine cups, the tablet at a careless angle on the side of the desk, and his chair was facing the door. With a shaking hand he touched his lips to find that they were sore and painful.

'Oh my gods,' he breathed numbly. And then panic set in. Where was Catilina now? Was Terentia alright? What about the children? Catilina's slow, suggestive wink at Tullia played out in his mind and he moaned, pulled at his hair, rocked a little in the chair. What had he _done_, bringing a man like that into his house? Terentia had been right; he was such a fool.

Stumbling to his feet he tripped his way to the door, checked no-one was there to see him and then hurried into the atrium, consulting the sundial to see that there was still over an hour until ientaculum. Surprising that he had woken that early after drinking so much, but perhaps his subconscious fears had forced him to wake sooner. Where to go next? He looked around him vainly, started one way then reconsidered and turned back.

Finally he made up his mind and resolved to check on his family. Marcus and Tullia were sleeping soundly and Terentia, when he lurched into his own bedroom, looked no more harassed then usual. She was sitting up in the bed in her night clothes (she disliked sleeping naked, as did he) and gave him a blank glance before suddenly sitting up straighter and shooting him a very sharp, disbelieving look.

'What happened to you?' She demanded, shocked. 'You look like you've been fighting off the Furies!'

His breathing still shallow and frightened, Cicero stopped for a moment to think. Of course he'd look a fright; why hadn't he thought of that before he'd gone running all over the house? Had any of the servants seen him? Answering his wife with an inarticulate stammer of 'Nothing' he staggered over to her mirror and shivered at the sight he saw. His eyes were dark and worn, face a little blotchy from the alcohol, and dried blood painted his chin from his slightly swollen and bruised lower lip. He wrung his hands anxiously, mind still fluttering uselessly, and clung to his wife's words as if to a lifeline when she spoke again.

'You're hung-over,' she sighed disdainfully. 'And worse than usual too.' Not that Cicero being hung-over was a particularly usual occurrence, but he understood what she meant; never had he looked this bad after a night of drinking. And he was not about to correct her and explain that it wasn't simply drink that had caused his shabby and haunted appearance. 'Go and get yourself cleaned up,' Terentia continued forcefully. 'So you can join us for ientaculum and get some food inside of you.'

'I'm not hungry,' Cicero protested, but Terentia was already out of the bed and propelling him towards the door.

'Since you have a guest - of sorts - you will attend breakfast whether you want to or not,' she gritted through her teeth, seeing herself as burdened by such a husband. 'And for political reasons I suggest you look presentable when you do so.'

After a bath and a clean set of clothes Cicero felt somewhat better. His lip was still a little sore - and looked it - but he was beginning to regain some of his colour and, after having resorted to makeup, the skin around his eyes no longer looked so dark. His mind was also feeling somewhat clearer, though he knew his hangover would subdue him for some time to come yet. And though he wanted nothing less he found himself walking towards the table upon which ientaculum had been set, eyes flicking nervously over the empty chairs. He was early.

Seating himself he smiled faintly at his wife when she entered, but found that his eyes kept slipping to the doorway, lines creasing his brow. He knew that it wouldn't be long before someone enquired as to why Catilina hadn't turned up for breakfast, and then Cicero would have to go and look and pretend to be surprised that the revolutionist had slipped away in the night. He was in no mood for acting.

'Eat something,' Terentia urged, 'and stop looking so skittish.'

Numbly he forced himself to chew and swallow some of the fruit salad as Tullia entered, dressed in a pretty gown that would have set Cicero's teeth on edge and earned a rebuke had he thought Catilina to still be in the near vicinity. As it was he let it slide and stared at the fruit. He wondered where the revolutionist had taken himself off to, because Cicero was sure that Catilina must have left after his night-time behaviour; how could he stay after that? Should he bring up the subject of the man's absence, or should he wait for someone else to note it?

'Sorry,' a familiarly smooth voice apologised from the doorway, interrupting the Consul's thoughts; 'Am I late?'

Cicero, who had just bitten down on a grape, swallowed instinctively and choked at the words. Aware that Terentia was frowning at him he turned incredulous eyes on the smug man as Catilina seated himself opposite his host and gave Tullia an appraising glance-over, made her blush.

'You look surprised to see me,' Catilina noted blithely with only the sparest glance at Cicero, whose eyes wandered over to the two guards standing near the archway; the very ones Catilina had eluded the night before. Had he bribed them? But with what money? Everyone knew he was in serious debt, no?

'Pleasantly surprised, I assure you,' Cicero tried to salvage himself and his dignity. 'For a moment I thought you were trying to avoid me.'

'_Avoid_ you?' Catilina frowned, feigning hurt. 'I should hope not.' He helped himself to the simple affair of food and shot Cicero a small, sly smile. 'Where would be the fun in that?'

Looking away, the confused orator pretended to be very interested in the food and refused to look at Catilina for some time, though he couldn't help glancing at his daughter and noticing how often her eyes travelled left, pinpricks of red staining her cheeks. She had been sleeping soundly earlier but that didn't mean that she couldn't have been writhing and panting some time before that. The very thought of it made his stomach churn queasily and he looked to his right to see that Terentia's disapproving eyes were also fixed on Tullia. She shared a glance with him, one of mutual understanding and resolve, and Cicero felt relieved. Terentia would speak to Tullia later.

The pattering of small feet signalled the arrival of little Marcus, his nurse-maid following behind helplessly, as he entered the atrium and ran straight to Terentia. 'Mamma!' Pushing her chair back with a sigh she let him climb up onto her lap and throw his arms around her neck affectionately, grinning at Cicero over her shoulder.

'Tata!' Cicero allowed himself a smile at the boy's enthusiasm and energy as he jumped off of Terentia and bounced over to his father instead, nurse-maid hovering in the background and reluctant to butt in on the family scene.

'Morning, Marcus,' Cicero greeted gently as he ruffled the boy's hair and glanced over at the nurse. He was going to give the boy back to her but Marcus was already out of his hold and busy staring up at his sister with wide eyes asking for love.

Cicero wasn't sure if Marcus, at two years of age, was extremely bright or extremely stupid. He had a way of inducing happiness and calmness into people which was sorely needed in a family like Cicero's, but the Consul wasn't sure if this was borne through pure simplicity or whether Marcus purposefully acted so because he was intelligent enough to determine that that was his role in the family circle. Either way the famous orator was glad to see the young boy distracting his sister; the longer her eyes were kept from Catilina's the better.

Without any hesitation the young boy marched over to the last diner and apprehension gripped Cicero's chest as he watched the revolutionist's reaction to the child who was gazing up at him inquisitively. Catilina returned the gaze quietly but with no intimidation; in fact his eyes were affable, inviting. Marcus grinned at him and recited the longest sentence he knew; 'I am Marcus Tullius Cicero Minor.'

A smile tugged at Catilina's lips. 'I know who you are.'

The boy looked surprised at this. 'I don't know _you_,' he protested and Catilina tilted his head, amused.

'The one doesn't necessarily follow the other,' he explained, though Marcus only met this with confusion. 'I'm Lucius Sergius Catilina. A pleasure to meet you.' And, with a cautious glance at the elder Cicero in an attempt to reassure him that he meant the son no harm, Catilina reached out his right hand and brushed his fingertips against the smooth, tender skin of the child's cheek. Marcus continued to stare up at him, silently and with his mouth slightly parted, even when Catilina pulled back and continued eating, a sign of his dismissal. Cicero coughed, tried to catch his son's attention.

'Enough, Marcus. Time to leave now.' And at these words the nurse-maid stepped forward and dragged the boy away.

* * *

End of installment three of this fic. Any thoughts and constructive criticism are, as always, much appreciated.

Thanks for reading,  
Lelegeia xxx


	4. Help me!

Hello again.

**warnings:** Nothing much. Tame.  
**author's notes: **'Mappae' are little napkins provided during cena for the diners to wipe their mouths/hands with.

* * *

**The Story of Set and Horus; Chapter Four; Help me!**

* * *

Having made sure that Tullia left the table first, Cicero had then excused himself and sought out Tiro, whom he had instructed to change Catilina's guards daily; 'just in case' Catilina managed to build friendships with the soldiers through familiarity. Then Cicero left his house and, followed by his clients, lictors and usual escorts, visited the forum and spent the whole day outside. He visited various people, toured market stalls and walked off his hangover until he was too tired to continue, and was forced to return home. He had missed prandium, opting to buy food from a stall instead, and when he returned the house was just as quiet as it had been before the advent of Catilina. In fact it was deceptively peaceful, Cicero thought, as he strolled into the atrium and noticed the two guards standing near one of the archways. His eyes immediately searched for Catilina, realising he must be in the room, and saw him leaning against a pillar to Cicero's left. He was not looking at the orator though; instead he was talking in a low voice to someone sitting on the bench next to him, obscured from Cicero's eyes by Catilina's idly comfortable stance.

Just as the Consul was about to alert the revolutionist and his companion to his presence though he froze, shocked into immobility by the shy, breathless giggle emanating from Catilina's direction. Not that it was Catilina. Far worse than that, Cicero recognised the youthful lilt of his own daughter's voice and strained his ears to hear what she was whispering back; to no avail. Anger blossoming, he fisted his hands and glared into the back of Catilina's head as if to slice it in two by the very intensity of his gaze. His mouth quivered, fishing for words, but he closed it with a wince as he heard Tullia's sweet laughter again. Taking a deep breath he tried to calm himself; if he interrupted them in his current state he would only make a fool of himself.

With as light a step as he could manage, Cicero approached them and heard Tullia fall silent, saw her dart her head around Catilina to see her father and then retreat with wide eyes, standing abruptly and stiffly as Cicero reached them.

'Good afternoon,' the orator greeted them both with a strained smile. Tullia didn't reply, looked slightly to the side of Cicero's head with obvious guilt and distress. Catilina was not so easily cowed.

'My good friend,' the Senator smiled back, spreading his arms as if inviting a hug. 'I trust the day has treated you well?' Cicero stared pointedly at the outstretched hands with such a look that Catilina couldn't help laughing even as he dropped them back to his sides. 'I shall not be offended,' he added politely.

'Tullia-' Cicero started but stopped when he saw how she jumped at him addressing her. He sighed, then returned his eyes to Catilina. 'I would like a word with you in my study, Senator.'

Inclining his head the older man followed obediently, his two new guards entering after him and standing either side of the door. Cicero glanced at them, torn. Then with some trepidation he bid them to wait outside; close enough, he decided, to hear if there was a commotion and come to his help yet far enough for the two senators to speak without being overheard. Catilina pulled a chair up close to Cicero's and sat down with a contented sigh, ignoring the anger seeping from his companion as the Consul poured watered wine and sat down next to him. Cicero reluctantly handed Catilina a cup but left his own on the desk.

'You wished to speak with me?'

'Stop making advances on my daughter!' Cicero snapped, unable to hide his fury any longer. Indeed he would have roared if he hadn't disliked the idea of Tullia overhearing.

Catilina was silent for some time, waiting for Cicero to calm down and a little surprised at the orator's bluntness; usually the lawyer would be more subtle. Finally he placed his cup on the desk and leant back in his chair, arms folded. 'Consider, for a moment, that it is not _me_ making advances but rather _her_.' Cicero looked at him, acknowledging the point, and so Catilina continued calmly, 'Ever since I entered this house she's been simpering and sighing and blushing whenever I so much as enter the same room as her. What's a man to do? If you want to protect her honour then tell her to stop being such a slut.'

Up until that last accusation Cicero had listened fairly because it was true that Tullia had been somewhat encouraging in her manner towards the revolutionist, but at the derogatory term 'slut' he hissed through his teeth. 'Don't call her that,' he gritted out; 'She's was as chaste as a Vestal Virgin until her wedding night and has done nothing to taint her honour before this. If anyone is to be called a slut I'd have had to say that it would be you.'

'As chaste as a Vestal, eh?' Catilina smirked as he ignored the insult to himself, eyes dancing. It was a commonly accepted rumour that the revolutionist had corrupted the Vestal Fabia (Terentia's sister even!) when he was younger and seduced her just short of actually taking her virginity. Cicero shivered; perhaps likening his daughter to one of the city's sacred virgins had been a bad idea. Leaning forward in his chair and clasping his hands together Catilina captured Cicero's eyes with surprising sincerity. 'Seriously Marcus; I have no wish to seduce your daughter but, equally, I think even you can see that she has every intention of _being_ seduced.'

'Then ignore her. She can hardly seduce herself.'

Catilina exhaled sharply in amusement at that but quickly sobered. 'I would love to,' he replied, 'but she's actually quite a pretty little thing - I've no idea where she gets it from - and my body is very responsive. Besides, it's not in my nature to ignore a woman. Bad manners.' He kept Cicero's eyes calmly, unclasping his hands and reaching one forward to take Cicero's left in a firm but gentle grip. The Consul's breath hitched momentarily, surprised at how warm the touch was, but he said nothing.

'I think you understand,' Catilina murmured, 'that when touched in the right way our bodies see even our enemies as desirable.' And he wasn't talking about Tullia anymore. Cicero swallowed audibly, let his hand be lifted until hot air fanned his knuckles, lips pressed against his flesh, and all the while their gaze remained firm. Then Catilina replaced the Consul's hand in his lap and stood, blinking away and breaking the stare.

'So,' Catilina continued casually as he picked up his chair and carried it over to its original position, 'please tell your daughter to stop being such a tease - or else I might just be forced to oblige her.'

Cicero blinked, returned to thoughts of Tullia. 'O-of course,' he muttered. 'I'll have a word with her. But,' he added more firmly, rising from his chair and clenching his jaw, 'you must stop teasing her back. And don't deny it; I've seen the looks you give her.'

Catilina smiled, inclined his head. 'That sounds fair.' Walking to the door he paused, glanced back at the thin man behind him. 'I'll see you at cena?'

'Yes,' Cicero agreed wearily, suddenly and desperately wanting to be alone. 'I'll see you at cena.'

Cena was less awkward than the one they had shared the night before, although Tullia was noticeably subdued and didn't look at Catilina once throughout the whole meal, let alone speak to him. Cicero was immensely relieved at this and, of course, took all the credit, although he had summoned Terentia to his study as well as his daughter in the knowledge that she would lend a force to his rebuke that might otherwise have been weak and ineffectual. It had been a brilliant speech, if he thought so himself, full of vigour and logic and persuasion, and he'd thrown so many reasons and arguments at her and hammered them in with such strength of repetition that Tullia had been left speechless. Apparently she still hadn't recovered her voice.

Catilina also seemed impressed, though he didn't verbalise this praise. Instead the revolutionist glanced between the girl and her father with interest and, when he knew Cicero was looking, ran his eyes over the orator in keen appraisal. Cicero glowed inside as if his rival had literally fallen on his knees before him and loudly proclaimed his supremacy, and for this reason alone the Consul would have enjoyed the dinner.

More surprisingly still than Catilina's increased valuation of him though was Terentia's attitude towards their 'guest'. Whilst she had been cold and stony in her manner to him and talk of him thus far she appeared to have thawed somewhat, and what little conversation was made to begin with was due almost solely to Terentia as she asked Catilina polite questions and he answered with equal civility.

As the first course was removed and servants brought in more food a squeal was heard in the corridor just outside and Cicero jumped, propping himself up and turning his head over his shoulder to mirror Catilina. The women also looked up in surprise as a young voice cried out in protest. 'Let go!'

After that, sounds of a struggle were heard and then a woman's gasp and the pattering of light feet as Marcus Tullius Cicero Minor careered through the doorway and ran straight to Cicero, took his hands and stared up at him with wide eyes. Cicero turned his head back around to face his son and blinked down at him a little blankly, Catilina rather unsuccessfully trying to stifle a laugh as he watched the two of them. Little Marcus, chest heaving from his escape, looked at the revolutionist defiantly.

'What?' The boy demanded. 'Don't laugh!'

That just set Catilina off harder though and, breaking the table manners battered into him as a patrician child, he rolled onto his back and shook unrestrainedly. Cicero, not sure how the cena had come to be disturbed so completely, first gave Catilina a despairing gaze and then looked to Terentia for support.

'Sorry!' The nursemaid gasped, entering the room and looking distinctly worn out. 'I'm sorry, master. But your son has taken to playing the runaway…and I'm not as young as I once was.' She approached, cautiously eyeing the young child, and held out a hand. 'Come on Marcus. You're disturbing your father.'

Catilina, finished laughing, turned back over to lie on his right side and watched the exchange with interest. Young Marcus was eyeing the servant warily and edging away from her as she approached so that he was getting ever closer to Catilina, his thin, childish body caught between the table and the couch and his hands, still gripping his father's, pulling Cicero off balance. Said Cicero attempted to remove Marcus' fingers before he fell, and the child frowned at him as if he had betrayed him and not just simply tried to save his dignity.

Letting go of his father as the maid knelt and reached out a hand for him, fingers almost catching at his tunic, Marcus yelped and jumped at Catilina instead, grabbing his hands and staring up at him in wide-eyed supplication with much the same manner that he had his father earlier. Surprised, Catilina stared back at the child.

'Help me,' young Marcus demanded gravely.

'Help you?' Catilina replied as his lips quirked up in amusement, shooting Cicero a bemused glance. 'With what?'

'My escape.'

The maid appeared to have given up, her arm not long enough to reach that far down the couch, and was now staring up at her master in despair. Catilina also gazed at Cicero, though more from suppressed mirth than need of support.

'I order you. Help me.' This was said with such superiority that, had the boy been older, Catilina would have slapped him. His smile faded.

'You know usually,' Catilina answered the boy instead, wrenching his eyes away from his host's helpless expression to fix themselves with faux-seriousness on the child's simple, wide-eyed face; 'people have a good reason for running away.'

Young Marcus met the stare easily, even though those same eyes had conquered many men before him by their intensity alone. Admittedly Catilina was not giving the child his most piercing gaze, but the revolutionist was impressed nonetheless.

'I want-' The boy started and then frowned, reconsidered because being only two years old he wasn't very good at making sentences. 'I eat with you.'

'You want to eat with us?' Catilina corrected and Marcus nodded emphatically. Smirking, the revolutionist let his eyes linger on the child's a few seconds longer before lazily turning his head back to Cicero. 'Well _I_ have no objection, but that's for tata to decide really.'

Catilina referring to him as _tata_ sent a small shiver up Cicero's spine but he wasn't sure what emotion caused it, so confused was he at the current situation. Marcus usually stayed quiet and out of sight, and though it was true that he'd taken up the habit of occasionally interrupting their ientacula so he could greet his family, never had he intruded on their cena before. Now Marcus was glaring at him stubbornly and he had an idea that if he refused then a tantrum would be imminent. 'Very well,' he sighed and Marcus grinned, bounced on his feet happily. 'Go sit with your mother.'

When Cicero had told the maid to wait just outside for them though he turned back to see his son still tightly gripping Catilina's hands.

'Go to mamma,' Catilina cajoled, eyes gentle, but Marcus in all his two-year-old obstinacy refused and shook his head several times.

'I sit with you.'

'You want to sit with me?' Catilina corrected again, glancing helplessly at Cicero. When he realised that the Consul was at as much of a loss as he was though Catilina turned instead to Terentia. 'Does mamma mind?'

With one of the few genuine smiles Cicero had ever seen his wife wear Terentia shook her head. 'If you don't mind putting up with him then go ahead.'

'I don't really have a choice,' Catilina chuckled as the child let his hands go and struggled onto the couch next to him - but despite his words he didn't appear to be at all put out and so Cicero didn't intervene. The slaves poured water on their hands and mappae were provided and Marcus Minor, looking around in awe, shuffled a little closer to Catilina on the couch.

The rest of the meal passed more pleasantly than Cicero was accustomed to, as he spent a fair amount of it wondering at Catilina's charm and the simple, almost unintentional way that he could captivate and amuse young Marcus without seeming to mind or ever be offended at the blunt, demanding sentences the child spewed forth. When the food was finished though and the women rose to leave, Terentia caught her son's attention and told him it was time to go.

'No,' he replied stubbornly, but Terentia was like steel when she wanted to be and would not take that for an answer. Marcus Minor, having inherited much of his mother's determination, met her with incredible ferocity and clung so tightly to Catilina's arm when she reached for him that Cicero saw the man wince.

'Marcus,' Catilina murmured, gazing at the boy until reluctant eyes looked back at him, 'do as your mamma says.'

Marcus pouted. 'Won't leave you.'

'I'll still be here in the morning,' Catilina replied dryly; 'I'm not going to vanish over night.'

'Most guests do.'

'Oh well I'm special,' Catilina countered, matching the boy's spoilt glare with one of his own. 'Now let go of me and go with your mother.'

'Or what?'

'Or I will never speak to you again.'

The boy looked shocked at the terms. 'Never?' He gasped in disbelief. Catilina snorted softly at the reaction but wouldn't back down.

'Never. Now go!' Reluctantly young Marcus detached himself from his new-found friend and let his mother pick him up and carry him out of the dining room, glancing back at Catilina as he went.

* * *

Fourth installment finished.

As ever, coments are extremely welcome!

Thanks for reading,  
Lelegeia xxx


	5. Not here

Hello again.

**warnings:** mild sexual content.  
**author's notes: **When I wrote this it was predominantly for my own amusement and so I never bothered tailoring the work to fit into nice, equally sized chapters. Thus I had the option of either making this chapter fairly short or rather long. I settled for the former, having experimented with both versions. So a short chapter for now - and also a note to bear in mind that the chapters may vary in length by a couple of thousand words at a time. Sorry for this inconsistancy!

* * *

**The Story of Set and Horus; Chapter Five; Not here**

* * *

Once Cicero's son had gone, Catilina collapsed inelegantly on the couch and let out a relieved chuckle. 'Cicero, my dear, I never imagined for one moment that any son of yours could possess such a regal air. To think; he _ordered_ me! That is wrong on so many levels!'

'He has only recently become aware that he is the son of a Consul,' Cicero explained awkwardly, wishing to defend his son but agreeing that Marcus Minor's spoilt manner was not the most endearing of qualities.

'Oh but that is the air of one much practiced at giving orders,' Catilina replied, dismissing the explanation. 'I bet someone has been whispering in his ear since birth that he is the son of Rome's greatest orator; that sounds more believable to me.'

'Don't look at me,' Cicero frowned uncomfortably. He knew that he had a tendency to run away with himself and boast of his achievements sometimes - especially to close friends and family - but he had little to do with Marcus and didn't like the way Catilina was staring at him, eyes painting accusation. In an attempt to turn the subject away from himself, Cicero reached over and ran his fingers over the red marks on Catilina's left arm where young Marcus' hand had applied his vice-like grip before leaving.

'Strong for a two year old, isn't he?' Catilina smiled knowingly, lying on his side and reaching his right hand up to cover Cicero's on his arm. The orator met his companion's gaze warily at the contact, but was comforted by the guards' presence inside the room.

'Children are rarely as weak as they appear,' Cicero agreed. 'I think it's their height which deceives us.' The slave girl who had been sent in with wine was dismissed silently by a shake of the Consul's head; he was in no mood to face wine just then.

'Hmm.' Catilina had lost interest in the subject and was busy examining Cicero's face. 'Are you wearing _makeup_?'

Cicero blushed, looked away. It was nothing to be ashamed of, he told himself, just a clever way of concealing how many sleepless nights he had spent recently. Somehow though the humiliation still clawed at him. 'Oh like you've never worn any,' he scorned back instead of trying to defend himself.

'Only on some of my more outrageous conquests,' Catilina assured him; 'what are _you_ doing wearing it?'

Cicero bit his lip, then silently cursed at the pain (his mouth was still incredibly sensitive from his mauling of it last night) and stopped. 'Why do you think?' He jerked his hand but Catilina held it tighter, mocking his strength, before letting Cicero go of his own volition.

'You're getting old?' Catilina guessed, rolling onto his back comfortably, and Cicero resisted the urge to add his own red marks alongside his son's.

'I'm younger than you are,' he gritted through his teeth, but Catilina infuriatingly met this indignation with a delightfully short laugh.

'Only just and, believe me, it doesn't show.'

'Oh if all you're going to do is insult me then I'm finished here,' Cicero snapped, swinging his legs off of the couch and bending down to put his sandals on.

'Don't go!' Catilina protested, lurching forward and seizing his arm. Cicero looked at him in quiet confusion. Why so desperate? 'Staying inside all day is so boring,' Catilina explained as if he'd heard Cicero's thoughts. 'Don't deprive me of conversation too!'

'I'm never sure when you're being serious and when you're making fun of me,' Cicero grouched back, but because he was secretly pleased at Catilina's pleading and apparent neediness he shook his arm free from the revolutionist's hand and laid back down.

'A lifetime of lies does have its disadvantages,' Catilina agreed. 'You get so good at lying that no-one can tell when you're telling the truth.'

Cicero glanced at the guards. 'I'm surprised you speak so openly of your depravity. We're not alone.'

'Equally we're not in the senate house. And do you think that the senate is going to believe the witness of two praetorian guards under your care?'

'They're not my servants,' Cicero frowned. 'They're respectable men. The senate would listen.'

'No it wouldn't,' Catilina sighed languidly. 'The senate would only listen if it wanted to believe what they said. As it stands, it doesn't.'

Cicero frowned at him for some while longer but let the matter rest. Though the Consul didn't want to believe anything bad about the Republic he knew that it had its many faults, just like any other type of constitution, and it both saddened and enraged him.

'So why are you wearing makeup?' Catilina wondered, voice soft so as to not anger Cicero as he had earlier. Glancing at the guards nervously the orator hesitated. He couldn't speak about last night in front of them, despite Catilina's assurances that the Senate would never listen to them. The people certainly would and he couldn't risk the shame of being burdened with the title of homosexual; it would spoil his political career for good and dishonour his dignitas.

'Lack of sleep is beginning to take its toll,' he admitted at last. He wasn't sure he wanted Catilina to know that he was sleeping badly, but the revolutionist showed no surprise at the statement and Cicero realised that his companion had already guessed as much.

'Your lip is sore too,' Catilina noted as if concerned, 'Stressed, are we?'

'No,' Cicero retorted in surprise; had Catilina forgotten last night? Or was he just trying to rile him? 'You-' he started, about to remind him, but then he stopped and glanced at the two guards again. They were looking straight ahead, silent, but he knew that they were listening to every word. He could dismiss them, but he was a little reluctant to do so in case they suspected something. Instead he shifted closer to Catilina, closing the space between them, and leant down to whisper in his ear. 'My lip is sore because,' he swallowed nervously, 'Horus didn't want the other gods to discover Set's - ah - _visit_ last night.'

Catilina smiled slyly, surreptitiously curled his fingers into the front of Cicero's toga. 'Send the guards away,' he whispered back, eyes too intense to be entirely playful. Cicero eyed him a little fearfully.

'Not here.'

'Yes here. Right now,' Catilina murmured. Cicero's brow creased, eyes darted hesitantly to the guards. He knew he didn't have to humour Catilina, knew he didn't have to obey, but he did anyway.

Coughing meaningfully to get the soldiers' attention, Cicero reclined as gracefully as possible and looked at them haughtily. 'Wait outside,' he commanded and watched with his jaw set as they nodded and left the room.

'Now I see where your son gets his manners from,' Catilina breathed huskily, pushing the Consul down onto his back as soon as the last soldier had stepped out of sight and crawling on top of him.

Cicero closed his eyes and said nothing in reply, concentrating on the feel of his nemesis' legs straddling his hips, hot breath on his cheek. He tried to forget who he was as his bottom lip protested at the physical contact and his mouth opened at the slightest lick. Slipping his left arm around Catilina's neck Cicero kept him in place and opened wider, breathing shallowly into the older man's mouth, eyes tight shut.

'So it wasn't just because you were drunk,' Catilina deduced, dipping his head to Cicero's neck and brushing the cloth of the toga out of the way so he could run his teeth over the younger man's collarbone. 'Interesting.'

'Shut up,' Cicero hissed back, left hand gripping Catilina's hair and pulling those sinful lips back onto his own; he really didn't want to be reminded of who his partner was. The revolutionist smirked into the kiss, slipping his body lower so as to grind his own hardness against Cicero's and make the man gasp. Right hand trailing down the orator's body Catilina pushed the heavy white folds of toga out of the way to allow him access to the tunic only just covering the full and throbbing member of his political opponent. Who moaned breathlessly and writhed underneath him and his touch.

'We c-can't,' Cicero muttered, skin burning and eyes already dilated. 'Not here.'

It was true that the doors were open and that it would look suspicious to ask the guards to close the doors as well as to stand outside. Catilina frowned irritably into Cicero's eyes. 'Where then? Your study?'

'On the floor?' Somehow Cicero's voice was still able to convey his distaste at the suggestion; a couch perhaps, a bed definitely, but the floor…? He drew the line at that. A bedroom would be best - perhaps the room Catilina was being put up in - but how were they supposed to lose the guards without invoking suspicion? Interestingly enough, throughout his contemplations Cicero never once considered _not_ doing it.

'_Anywhere_,' Catilina ground back.

'Perhaps we should wait until la-' Cicero was cut off by a passionate, tongued kiss and felt his companion give a little thrust against him, squeezing his hips and exposing his impatience. 'Okay, okay,' he soothed breathlessly when Catilina released his mouth; 'let's not wait.'

* * *

Fifth installment done.

Once again I'd love to hear what you think of this!

Thanks for reading,  
Lelegeia xxx


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